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Why Were Hundreds of Tributes Deleted From @the_aids_memorial?

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“Back Online Again!” Those three words greeted visitors to the Instagram account @the_aids_memorial on Wednesday afternoon. The message arrived after much confusion, hurt and anger: During the past three weeks, hundreds of tributes on the beloved social media account had been mysteriously deleted.

Confounding the problem, the account’s founder, who goes by Stuart from Scotland, had told PinkNews earlier this week that he had been blocked from accessing it—and that Instagram was not helping to resolve the issue.

When POZ reached out to him for an update, Stuart confirmed that he was back online and able to post tributes on the photo-sharing platform. However, it’s unclear whether the underlying problem has been resolved because Instagram hasn’t provided Stuart with an explanation for why he was blocked from his own account or why hundreds of posts were deleted to begin with—only to be reinstated and deleted again.

“These setbacks don’t help,” Stuart told POZ, “but I need to push forward. I feel there has been a total disregard by Instagram to address these issues,” he said, noting that the interruptions are “upsetting many followers of the page needlessly by wiping away their tributes to loved ones and the legacy of the AIDS epidemic. It also totally undermines the memorial mission as a place to find solace and comfort. I just want people to feel comfortable sending submissions.” Read more via POZ

#MartinWong (Jul 11, 1946 – Aug 12, 1999) was an artist and part of #NewYork's #EastVillage #artscene. . Wong died of #AIDS under the care of his parents in their home in #SanFrancisco, aged 53. . @mr.williamrand recalls - "I ᴍᴇᴛ Mᴀʀᴛɪɴ Wᴏɴɢ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ 80's ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ Eᴀsᴛ Vɪʟʟᴀɢᴇ. Hᴇ ᴡᴀs ғʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ sᴛᴏᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴀʟᴋ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ sᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ ᴡʜᴇɴ ᴡᴇ sᴀᴡ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ. Mᴀʀᴛɪɴ ᴡᴀs ɢᴇɴᴜɪɴᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀɢɴᴇᴛɪᴄ. Hᴇ ᴏғᴛᴇɴ ʟᴏᴏᴋᴇᴅ ʟɪᴋᴇ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴊᴜɢɢʟɪɴɢ sᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ʙᴀʟʟs ᴀᴛ ᴏɴᴄᴇ: ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ᴀʟʟ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢs ... ᴀ ʀᴇᴀʟ ᴄʀᴀғᴛsᴍᴀɴ ɪɴ ʜɪs ᴡᴏʀᴋ. I ʀᴇᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀ ʜɪs ᴋɪɴᴅ ᴇʏᴇs." . @timmydeanlee remembers - " I ᴋɴᴇᴡ Mᴀʀᴛɪɴ ᴀs ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴀɴ ᴀʀᴛɪsᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴇᴄᴀᴜsᴇ ᴏғ ʜɪs ʀᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ Mɪɢᴜᴇʟ Pɪɴᴇʀᴏ. Mɪɢᴜᴇʟ ᴀʟsᴏ ᴡᴀs ᴛᴀᴋᴇɴ ʙʏ AIDS. Hᴇ ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ʟᴏɴɢ ʜɪsᴛᴏʀʏ ᴏғ ɴᴇᴇᴅʟᴇ ᴜsᴇ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴡᴀs ᴏɴᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʀᴛɪsᴛs/ᴘᴏᴇᴛs ᴛʜᴀᴛ sᴘᴏᴋᴇ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍᴇᴍᴏʀɪᴀʟ #JᴏᴇPᴀᴘᴘ ʜᴇʟᴅ ғᴏʀ ʜɪᴍ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ Pᴜʙʟɪᴄ. I ʜᴀᴅ ᴋɴᴏᴡɴ Mᴀʀᴛɪɴ ғɪʀsᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴏᴜᴘ ᴀʀᴛ sʜᴏᴡs ᴡᴇ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄɪᴘᴀᴛᴇ ɪɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴄᴛᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ Mɪɢᴜᴇʟ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ #MɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟCᴀʀᴍɪɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ I ʜᴀᴅ ᴀ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ᴡɪᴛʜ Pɪɴᴇʀᴏ ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ Oᴅᴇssᴀ ᴄᴀғᴇ." . Wong born in #Portland #Oregon in 1946 grew up in #SanFrancisco. On graduating from @humboldtstate, he made a living by drawing sketches for passersby on the streets of #EurekaCalifornia. He joined the #AngelsofLight, a gay street performance troupe in San Francisco. . At 30 Wong decided to become a artist arriving in New York in 1978. He lived on the #LowerEastSide and worked in the bookstore of the @metmuseum. . Wong first exhibited his work in 1981 @abcnoriopunkhc #RivingtonStreet #LowerEastSide in an exhibition organized by #Colab, an artists' group known for its impromptu ''first come, first hung'' shows. . At the opening he met his partner #MiguelPinero, a poet and playwright. . Wong showed at #SemaphoreGallery #SoHo and the #EastVillage in 1984, 85 and 86 and the @ppowgallery, where he had his last exhibition in 1998 coinciding with a retrospective organized by @newmuseum and the @illinoisstateu Galleri. . After Wong learned he had #HIV in 1994, he moved back to #SanFrancisco but continued to paint and made frequent return trips to New York. . #MiguelPiñero died in 1988 of AIDS.

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. Please don’t let AIDS make me a monster or a burden is my prayer. Too soon, Chris has to leave. I walk him to the elevator bank, then totter back so Raquel can open my I.V. again. It’s not even mid-evening, but I’m nodding off. My life’s so full, even (especially?) when I’m here on G-9. When it’s time to move on to the next step, that will be a great adventure, too. . Helena Hughes, Tibetan Buddhist, tells me that there are three stages in death. The first is white, like passing through a thick but porous wall. The second stage is red; the third is black; and then you’re finished, ready for the next event. I’m glad she has a road map, but I don’t feel the need for one myself. I’ve trust enough in all that’s happened in my life, the unexpected love and gentleness that rushes in to fill the arid spaces in my heart, the way the city glow fills up the sky above the river, making it seem less than night. . When Joe O’Hare flew in last week, he asked what were the best times of my New York years; I said “Today,” and meant it. I hope that death will lift me by the hair like an angel in a Hebrew myth, snatch me with the strength of sleep’s embrace, and gently set me down where I’m supposed to be, in just the right place. . An excerpt from a poem by #TimDlugos (Aug 5, 1950 – Dec 3, 1996), "G-9" which he wrote while hospitalized in G-9, the #AIDSward at #RooseveltHospital #Manhattan.

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